


Five Times Schneider Looked Different, And One Time He Didn't

by deandratb



Category: One Day at a Time (TV 2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 20:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandratb/pseuds/deandratb
Summary: A collection of moments, beginning after “Hold Please.”She smiled up at him hopefully. “Really, Schneider--it’s not your usual style, but it’s not a bad one. I like you, looking your age. Hard roads and all.”





	Five Times Schneider Looked Different, And One Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy interlude while I work on an unrelated epic for these two--and while we await renewal news.

**I.**

“You know you look stupid, right?”

Schneider was towering over her, standing too close in the middle of the crowd with that ridiculous eyepatch on.

“Hey, that’s not very nice. And after I bought you a kebab.”

“You’re right.” She grinned up at him. “Thanks for the kebab, you sexy pirate.”

“I suspect you’re mocking me.” He turned away to stare at the stage, where his band had been replaced by a younger, equally terrible band. “Those guys suck.”

“They’re no Full Sail...thank God.” She bumped him with her uninjured shoulder. “Kidding. It was very nice of you to drag me out to the street fair. And body-block anybody that got too close to my sling.”

“You deserve some fun,” he replied. “I’m just sorry you missed my show. I really thought we would at least make it through the first set.”

“Aw, _pobrecito._ If you run interference for me to get back upstairs, I’ll listen to you sing “Rosanna.”

“I think you’re joking again,” he said, putting a guiding arm behind her back as they maneuvered around the food truck crowd. “But I hope not. I rock the heck out of “Rosanna.”

She laughed, following him back into the building.

“I **was** joking, but you know what, Schneider? I doubt the kids or _Mami_ are going to be back anytime soon.”

“And?” His hopeful eyebrows made her laugh again.

“And, I actually kind of like ‘Rosanna.’”

He squeezed her around the waist affectionately before opening her door. “You’re in luck, then. I have the karaoke version on my phone.”

**II.**

"Hey," Penelope said on her way in, so focused on the flashcards in her hand that she didn't actually look at Schneider until she was sitting on his couch.

"Whoa. What happened to your glasses?"

His fingers flew to his face before he relaxed. "Okay, they're fine. Don't scare me like that, Penelope!"

"They're so different. You got new glasses?"

The frames were silver, and narrower than his black ones. Somehow it changed his whole look.

"Ah, not exactly. There was an incident, yesterday, and I had to switch to my backups. But then I kind of broke that pair too. These are old."

She couldn't stop staring, trying to make sense of his skinny jeans and trimmed beard paired with the wire frames. It didn't compute.

"That's why I skipped breakfast," he admitted. "I've got rush delivery on the replacements, but until then, I'd rather not ruin my image by going out in public like this."

She rolled her eyes. "They're just glasses, Schneider. It's not like you're back in the eyepatch."

"Hey, that eyepatch was cool." He hesitated. "You don't think they make me look...nerdy?"

"No, they don't." She paused. "You **are** nerdy."

"I'm not the one with flashcards," he argued, leaning over to peer at them. "Science?"

"Geology," she confirmed. "'Cause tectonic plates are going to be really important when one of my patients goes into cardiac arrest."

"Maybe if they get injured in an earthquake."

Her laughter filled his apartment. "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I came to make sure you signed that form for Alex's away games this year. He needs it tomorrow."

"You could've texted," Schneider pointed out, getting up to grab the form off his kitchen counter.

"Texting requires my phone, and if I'm on my phone, I'm not studying. And then _Mami_ sprays me with water," Penelope cracked. "This was easier."

She watched him as he returned, sunlight glinting off his metal glasses. "And also more fun."

"I'm sure." Schneider handed her the piece of paper and checked the time on his phone. "In two hours, I'll be able to go back to normal. And I bought a backup pair for my backup pair this time--just in case. These can finally get recycled."

Folding the form in half, she grabbed her flashcards off the table and stood. "Well, have fun with your ridiculously expensive eyewear. See you at dinner?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Penelope paused at his door. "Hey, Schneider?"

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't recycle them." She smiled over her shoulder at him before she left. "You should keep them. They're kind of cute."

**III.**

“Hello? Are you in there?” Penelope knocked a second time before she finally heard shuffling footsteps approach. 

“I’m sick,” Schneider said through the door. “Probably contagious.”

“I know,” she replied. _“Mami_ told me--and she made you chicken soup. I’ve already had my flu shot so I said I would bring it. Let me in.”

When he opened the door, Penelope did a double-take. He was in slightly rumpled blue pajamas and his favorite robe, and saying he looked like death warmed over would be a charitable assessment of his health.

But also, he hadn’t shaved in days. Which made her realize she had never seen him with facial hair that was less than perfectly trimmed.

“Schneider, your beard is gray.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know...is it usually gray like that, when you let it grow out?”

“It’s always sprinkled with gray now.” He shrugged. “I dye it.”

“You dye it. Wow.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, settling back on the couch. “Just part of the grooming package.”

Penelope joined him on the couch after she shut the door behind her. “The ‘desperate to look twenty-five’ package? I didn’t think you were quite that vain.”

“I’m not vain,” he protested. “Just forty.”

“What’s wrong with being forty? And while you answer that, keep in mind that I am about to turn forty...and I’m holding hot soup.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being forty when you’re awesome,” Schneider replied. “You’ll be a forty-year-old veteran nurse raising two great kids, who looks amazing even when you’re half-asleep and crying.”

“Schneider,” she said softly, never sure how to respond when he was sincere.

“Hey, it’s true. But some of us have to work a little harder. Without the beard dye and the eyebrow threading and the waxing--waxing is horrible, by the way--I look like a guy who spent the better part of forty years too high to take care of himself.”

“The last seven years are the ones that matter,” Penelope argued, setting the soup down so she could put an arm around him. 

“I’m proud of making it this far, of my sobriety. But **all** the years matter, Pen. You know I barely remember my twenties? A whole decade, just gone--lost in a blur of whatever drugs I could get my hands on. And with Father’s money...there wasn’t much I couldn’t get my hands on.” 

Schneider slumped against her a little and sighed. “I just wish...I don’t know, I’ve accepted that this is the path I’m on. I have. But I wish I could get even a little of that time back.”

She nodded and laid her head on his shoulder, trying to think of something to say that would cheer him up. 

“It makes you look distinguished,” Penelope offered after a moment.

“It makes me look like a conspiracy nut holding a cardboard sign on Melrose.”

“But a distinguished one.” She smiled up at him hopefully. “Really, Schneider--it’s not your usual style, but it’s not a bad one. I like you, looking your age. Hard roads and all.”

He tugged her closer for a hug. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Penelope patted the hand that was curled around her side. “Now, stop breathing on me. I don’t want whatever you’ve got.”

**IV.**

"Hey, check you out,” Schneider said as he offered her his arm. “Very snazzy.”

“Thanks. You look nice too, very...James Bond.”

“Yeah?” He grinned.

“If Bond were an ex-Canadian with a chest waxer, absolutely.”

He pressed the call button for the elevator. “Come on, Pen, admit it. I look good in a suit.”

He did. She would never say it out loud, but he did. And while he had dressed up for the _quinces,_ a tuxedo was miles away from that version of him.

It was more formal, sure, but also out of character. Sneakily color-coordinating with her by putting on a blue suit for Elena’s party? Totally a Schneider move.

Looking like the sort of man who attended ‘functions,’ and called them that with a hint of disdain? Schneider never seemed like that guy.

“It’s so easy to forget that you’re rich,” she said before she caught herself.

“Huh?”

“Sorry.” Penelope shook her head. “I just meant, you go through life, being you, and obviously you have money, but you don’t act like it. You know? Not like those men--”

“With the stock portfolios and the yachts and the private boarding schools?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hate to break it to you, Pen, but I am one of those guys. That’s where I come from.”

Schneider gestured down toward his shoes. “That’s why I know how to do this. It was all part of the deal.”

“But it’s not who you **are.** ”

The elevator arrived, and she was grateful for the moment of being closed in together. It made it easier to get his full attention, tapping his vest-covered heart with a finger and craning her neck up to meet his eyes.

“You’re so much more than all that, in here. That’s why we love you.”

Penelope smiled up at him as the elevator hit the ground floor. “And that’s why it’s hard to remember sometimes that technically, you come from the same world as those self-centered _comemierdas.”_

He laughed as the doors opened, gesturing for her to exit first. 

“Also, Schneider?”

“Yes, Penelope?”

“I’m kind of nervous. Thanks for being my date tonight.”

“Thanks for asking me.”

**V.**

“Oh my God, is this you?”

“Huh?” When Schneider reached the desk and spotted the photo, he grabbed it and held it out of reach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about your hair. What are you there, seventeen?”

“Nineteen. And in my defense,” he said, eyes rolled to the ceiling, “I was **really** high. For that whole year.”

“It’s long. Schneider, you were so pretty!”

“I had a pathetic attempt at a goatee. I most definitely was not pretty.”

“Okay, yeah, the goatee is gross. But I mean...” Penelope peered up, trying to examine his hairline. “You have curly hair?”

He shrugged, a flush creeping over his skin as she stared. “It’s kind of like the beard. If I keep it short, it doesn’t do that.”

“Curls.”

Schneider recognized the look, and sighed inwardly. There were very good reasons he kept that fashion era well out of sight. _Why hadn’t he burned that photo?_

“Alright, go ahead.”

“What?”

“I use straightener. Or a cream. To make it look this way. You can, in fact, feel the curl, if you ruin my hard work.” He quirked his lips. “It’s all over your face, Pen. Go for it.”

Folding the photo in half and tucking it in the back pocket of his jeans, Schneider sat on the couch. “You know you want to,” he teased.

It was silly, but she did want to. Penelope sat down next to him, watching as he tipped his head and offered her access. "Hurry please,” Schneider muttered toward her knees. “This is super embarrassing.”

Nodding, she lifted her hands, brushing them over his temples before lightly dragging them through his hair. 

He was right--as soon as her fingers trailed through the length of his styled hair, it stopped looking like it stood straight up, and started to wave. 

She was strangely fascinated. Curly-haired Schneider in the photo was so tiny...and yet it was the Schneider she knew, the one baring the nape of his neck to Penelope for her amusement, who seemed even younger now. More vulnerable.

That had to be why she gentled her hands, running them down toward his ears, then starting again from his temples. His hair was longer than she’d realized from looking at it. _Must be the height difference._

When she shifted from gliding her hands through his hair to tousling it a little, he flinched. “I felt that,” Schneider said. “I said you could see it curl--not play with it.”

Penelope giggled, then pulled her hands back to slap one over her mouth, grateful he couldn’t see her expression. _What the hell was that? Where did that flirty noise come from?_

“Sorry,” she agreed. “I was having too much fun.” She leaned back, giving him space to straighten up.

“You done?” 

“Yeah.” Clearly it was a bad idea for her to put her hands on Schneider any more than she absolutely had to. _Well. That was new._

**VI.**

“Do you think I should shave my beard?”

Penelope was in Schneider’s apartment, taking advantage of his massive television to watch one of the blu-rays she’d gotten for her birthday. Somehow he had ended up next to her on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn while the movie played. 

He didn’t talk as much as she expected. He asked good questions, and every time she got into a one-sided argument with the characters, he laughed.

The end credits were rolling when he broke the friendly silence between them. It took her a second to tune back in.

“What?”

“My beard. Do you think I should shave it? Like the _quinces,_ but for good?”

She frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know...I’m feeling kind of restless lately. Maybe shaking up the look a little will help. Nobody liked the mustache, which rules that out. And I mean, clean-shaven me wasn’t bad, right? I didn’t get any complaints.”

“No,” Penelope replied, “it was...” _Hot,_ her traitorous brain finished silently. 

“It was good,” she said instead. “It was fine.”

“Okay.” Schneider was watching her more closely than she liked, considering the places where her mind wouldn’t stop wandering to lately. 

“Everything alright, Pen?”

“Yeah. Just not sure why you would need to change up your look. I mean, you have a billion hobbies, Schneider--why not find a new one of those?”

“It’s not really a ‘too much free time’ kind of restless,” he countered. “More, I feel like a change. Something new in my life. Something different.”

“Well, I don’t think you should pick your beard,” Penelope said. 

Now he was frowning. “Why not?”

“It’s part of the package, like you said. Part of your whole Schneider thing.”

“My thing could evolve,” he argued. “Change can be fun.”

“Well, you asked my opinion,” she snapped, setting the popcorn bowl aside to stand up. “My opinion is you shouldn’t shave it.”

“Penelope!” He grabbed her arm before she could leave. “Where are you going? How did this turn into a fight?”

She pulled back, staring Schneider down where he sat on the couch--a position that put him at her eye level, ridiculous as that was.

“We’re not fighting,” she said, trying to calm her breathing. “I just like you the way you are, okay? You should find some other thing to change. Keep the beard.”

Penelope was a few inches closer to him now, though she didn’t remember moving. Schneider’s eyes were dark behind his glasses as he stared back.

“You really like it?”

His voice had dropped again to that place that hit her in the stomach and spread warmth to her toes.

 _Make a joke,_ her brain prodded her. _Brush it off. Take it back. Say **something.**_

Instead, she reached out to run her fingers along his jaw, watching Schneider tilt his face into her hand.

“I do,” she agreed softly. 

And then she was kissing him, or he was kissing her, Penelope wasn’t sure who moved first, but she was leaning into him where he sat and his arms were around her waist and Schneider was a surprisingly good kisser.

“You called me sexy without the beard,” he pointed out when they paused for air.

“I also called you sexy with the eyepatch,” Penelope reminded him. “Neither of those comments should inspire a lifestyle change.”

“So...keep the beard.”

“Keep the beard,” she agreed with a smile. She buried her face in his shoulder for a moment, just breathing him in. 

_Maybe avoiding her feelings hadn’t been a sustainable long-term plan, when it came to her best friend._

_But,_ Penelope thought, _maybe what came next would be even better._

Pulling her closer, Schneider murmured her name. He pushed her hair off her neck to clear a path for his mouth.

He proved her right.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the Alvareider crew on Slack, who inspired more than half of this with their Todd Grinnell photo sharing.


End file.
